


You Cursed Me

by Skullbones



Category: MediEvil (Video Games)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-23
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2019-02-19 02:48:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13114386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skullbones/pseuds/Skullbones
Summary: How did the mysterious Phantom of the Opera become bound to his organ and songs of misery?





	1. Chapter 1

The Mausoleum never was a true mausoleum. The imposing building on the Hill overlooking the vast cemetery hosted a wide variety of events from funerals, to weddings, and even the arts. Plays, operas, and festivals of all kinds would attract visitors and revelers from all across the land. Even the King himself and his court would partake in the merriment. The Hilltop Mausoleum was a very decent place for very decent folk, despite its location and the interred bodies in the basement.

Enough about the dead.  
There is a wedding tomorrow! Weddings are no place for the ones who have passed, now is the time to focus on the happy future of a happy young couple! Thinking of the grand wedding between the young lovebirds made the old heart of the organist flutter in delight. How he loved weddings. What he loved more than weddings was playing his music at the weddings, themselves! 

This old man had a name, but he preferred to be called by his stage name; 'The Phantom'. He had finished preparing the Mausoleum for the next day and sat at his precious pipe organ.  
The Phantom earned this name by his abnormally pale skin. Dark circles outlined his eyes to give his face a rather eerie appearance, while the wisps of his long, graying raven hair resembled the tail of a specter. He certainly looked like a ghost!  
Nobody feared The Phantom. Everybody in Gallowmere knew him and loved him as they would their own grandfather. He was a kind and generous soul, often performing at no cost and helping others whenever he could.  
He volunteered to set up the wedding by himself as a way to create art and to get some peace. Though he loved people, The Phantom quite enjoyed being alone. 

 

After the last bouquet had been set and the wines had been organized, The Phantom stepped back to admire his work.  
The pews were adorned with party favors and were crowned in white flowers that shone like the moon. Blue streamers hung from the many chandeliers and wrapped around the room like a giant, delicate spider's web. The tables hosted modest decorations, but when the day came and the banquet arrived, they would surely compliment it. Fragrant perfumes wafted and filled the air with their soothing aromas. It easily masked the stale air of the stone building that housed the dead.  
Yes, it was perfect!

Well...almost perfect.

There was one thing The Phantom was forbidden from changing. The owner of the mausoleum would give him an ugly lashing if he even attempted to cover or hide it.  
The giant stained glass window that glistened in many different colours as the moon shone in.  
The colors were nice, but the window was so...ugly. 

The Phantom absolutely hated it. It was ugly, it clashed with the rest of the room, and he always felt like it was...staring at him. Call him mad, but he just couldn't shake the sensation of eyes hungrily watching his every move. 

The Phantom sighs and shook a chill from his back. Staring too long at that window for too long made his heart race and his hands tremble. Something about it just wasn't right.  
Despite his instincts screaming at him to not go near it, The Phantom used the last of his flowers to outline the window. It didn't help it in terms of appearance, but it helped it blend in...even for a fraction.

The Phantom sighs and wipes the sweat from his brow. He should be leaving, but the allure of spending another night lost in his sonatas was simply too much. The Phantom tore his gaze away from the ghastly window and strode into the next room to his organ. Once the first few notes danced through the silence he forgot all about the cold stare from the window. 

The Phantom's eyes close and he began to lose himself in his melody. He could see the noted flitting around like butterflies in a gentle breeze in his mind's eye. They flew around his body and through his bony fingers, tickling his palms. Music really was his one true comfort.

A sudden crash pulled him from this comfort and the butterflies disappeared.  
Despite his age, he could move swiftly and he ran into the main hall. His heart sank into his stomach when he saw the stained glass window shattered on the floor. Its millions of pieces had been thrown all across the room, some pieces even stuck into the wooden doors on the opposite side of the hall. 

The Phantom bent down to examine a piece of the glass, then stopped when a thought struck him.  
Someone or something had broken in.  
He was unarmed and had never lifted a sword, or even a fist, in his life! If they had ill intentions for him, what could he do?

"H-Hello? Is...Is someone there? I do not want any trouble, now." His voice warbled as he failed to mask his intimidation.  
"Please. There is nothing of value here. W-We can talk about this..." he was met with only silence. 

A chill ran up his back again and made him shiver. Despite the window being ruined, he still felt its slavering gaze.  
The Phantom froze and he felt a large, thick substance drip onto his shoulder and travel down his back. The substance was as cold as ice and as sticky as honey, clinging to The Phantom's clothes and hand as he tried to brush it off. 

His heart pounded in his throat. His entire body trembled as he forced his gaze upwards. What he saw made his blood freeze.

Thick globules of saliva dribbled out between the gleaming white teeth in the jagged maw of the monster that clung to the ceiling. Long claws held its translucent body firmly rooted to the stone above he helpless organist. Its sleek, angular body easily towered over him. The monster's eyes shone like fire as it sized him up, clicking its large teeth while wicked thoughts swirled in its foul brain. 

 

The giant beast lept from the ceiling and stood between The Phantom and the door. The only other means of escape means surviving the harsh drop down the side of a mountain behind the Mausoleum. The beast's back was bent at a slight angle to fit in the entryway. Only when the moon shone on its reflective skin did The Phantom realize that this creature did not break the window to get inside...it was the window.

The demon took a step forward, its glass feet tinkling against the stone with The Phantom taking a fearful a step back. His eyes darted around the room in search of a weapon or for another way to escape.  
Another step forward and another step back.  
Anything. Anything at all!  
The Phantom stumbled over the raised step leading up to the circular room as the Demon took another step forward. The demon lunged forward with a shrill scream as it saw an opportunity. The Phantom scrambled a mad crawl to escape the rending claws of the beast and watched as it sailed past him to land in the center of the room. 

The demon spun on its heel and lunged at The Phantom again, it's claws swiping in a multi-coloured whirlwind.  
The Phantom rolled to the right to dodge the glass flurry, then scrambled to his feet to flee behind the monster down one of the corridors. He was too old for this.

His heavy footfalls were accompanied by even heavier, clinking footsteps as the demon tore down the hall after him. The Phantom cringed when he heard glass scraping on glass in a hoarse, raspy guffaw. This was just a game to the beast!  
How long had it been waiting in that ugly window just to pounce on him?! Why poor, old Erik? He had never done any wrong. He didn't deserve to die like this!

 

"Hide! I must hide!" The Phantom thought as he reached the lower levels of the Mausoleum. He was among the dead and when that beast catches up with him, he will join them.  
The Phantom's stomach churned as he approached a dusty coffin laying in a dark corner. He wasted no time in grabbing the lid, but a sharp pain in his left shoulder halted his attempt. Pain caught up with The Phantom when he gazed at his angry wound.  
The beast had completely shredded his tunic and had torn his shoulder to the bone. Attempting to move it resulted in another wave of pain that lit every nerve in his aged body light on fire. 

The Phantom poured his strength into his right arm to lift the heavy coffin lid, then slipped inside quietly with tears blurring his vision. The current skeletal occupant of the casket had no qualms of being brushed aside to make room for the injured man.  
The Phantom tore his tunic further for a makeshift bandage, hoping to stifle the river of blood that poured down his arm. Pressing the fabric into his shoulder renewed his pain, but it did help pull him back from the brink of unconsciousnesses. In addition to the tears of pain, he began to shed more out of sorrow.  
He was not ready to die. If only he had gone home sooner...if he had just stayed home.  
His thoughts turned to his youth and to a girl who had his heart even to this day.  
Dear Christine. 

Though she rejected him in favour of another man, The Phantom still loved her. She was kind to him despite his rather odd behavior and less than handsome features. The Phantom was sour at Raoul, but those feelings ebbed away with time as he mended his broken heart after coming to terms that she will never love him as he loved her. As long as she was happy, then so was he. The Phantom would rather her be with someone that makes her happy, even if it meant a life of loneliness. They both shared a passion for music and the arts, though that was really the only thing they had in common. To hear her sweet voice again would be a blessing. The thought of never seeing her, or anyone else, ever again pulled another painful chord in his heart and made him weep all the more bitterly.  
He swallowed his sobs when he heard the tinkling steps inch closer to his hiding spot. 

The Phantom tried desperately to stop his trembling, as it made the skeleton in the coffin clatter. Though the noise was barely audible outside the casket, it roared like a lion in his ears. What blood remained in his veins turned into stone when he realized the footsteps had stopped and that raspy laugh was right on top of him. 

"Whaaaattttt aaaaaaa mmeeessss..." The Demon hissed. "IIIIIII dooooo soooo. looooveee yooouuurr musssiiiiccc....wooonnn't yooouuuu plaaayyyy meeee aaaaaaa sssssoooong?"  
The Phantom flew like a mad bat when the Demon flung the coffin lid open. The skeleton clung to him during his escape, but dislodged when he ran back up the hall into the main room. The Phantom never noticed it. The Demon gave chase once more, climbing on the walls after him. 

Blood loss slowed The Phantom down considerably. What was once a crazed dash was now barely a pitiful jog. The world began to spin. The Phantom lost his balance and collided with the wall and crumbling to the ground. Even though his vision blurred and distorted his surroundings, he could clearly make out the Stained Glass Demon clinging to the opposite wall.  
"No...p-please. Please leave me alone. Let me live, I beg you!" The Phantom bellowed fearfully as he attempted to drag himself into the Main room. The cold eyes of the demon never left him. "H-Have...mercy..." he moaned dolefully. The Demon did not have lips, but he knew it was smiling. 

The Phantom shrieked when the Demon grasped a fist full of his hair and dragged him across the room.  
"Weeee wiiiilll haaaaveeee ssssoooo muuuuch ffffuuunnnnn toooogeeeetheeeerrrrr...Leeeeet's plaaaaayyyyy aaaa liiiiittllllleeee gaaaammmmmeee..." It said as it laid him out on the floor and raised its terrible claws. 

 

"Christine..."


	2. Chapter 2

Word spread quickly of the tragedy in the Mausoleum.  
The owner of the old building unlocked the heavy gates and was greeted by the stench of copper and flesh. The portly landlord merely glanced inside at the carnage and fainted on the spot.  
This was no wedding reception...it was murder.

The walls and furniture had all been bathed in blood. Remnants of skin, bone, cloth, and hair were all strewn about the room in a macabre display. The grisly trophy that sat where the banquet was supposed to rest made even the most seasoned guards retch and turn away to spare their eyes the sight.  
Poor, beloved Erik's head had been torn from his shoulders and blades had raked over his flesh, leaving him nearly unrecognizable. The cruel monster who did this to him had the audacity to place the wedding rings on his greyed tongue.  
The rest of his body had been scattered through the stone building. Some pieces were never found.  
Some knights wept as they remembered fond memories of Erik. He was no castle bard, but he often performed for the court and was, overall, a pleasant man to be around. His laugh was contagious and his words were kind. To see him forever silenced and torn completely apart tested the nerves of all who witnessed. Not even Erik's precious instrument was spared the murderer's cruelty; its pipes were clogged with it's master's own organs and his severed hands were placed at it's keys while dark blood coated its exterior.  
The king ordered his men to search the Mausoleum, graveyard, and the woods to find the perpetrator and bring them to face their crimes. Such violence is unwelcome in fair Gallowmere.  
Nobody ever thought to question the untouched stained glass window.

It had only been 20 years since the Battle of Gallowmere. The people had hoped for no more bloodshed, but this act cultivated fear in their hearts once more. No man could do this. Surely nobody could ever be this cruel...unless...  
It couldn't be Zarok, he was dead! The king said so!  
It couldn't be the infamous Lord Kardok, he was dead too!  
The witch sisters were considered, but everyone knew they harboured a small crush on The Phantom. They had an interest in men with odd appearances and his shyness was an endearing trait to them. Even they wept at the atrocities and had sworn revenge if they found the killer.  
Perhaps one of Zarok's foul minions escaped from the jaws of Hell. Surely, only a true monster could commit such a crime.

 

The Mausoleum was so quiet.

 

Erik had never been so cold. He could hear whispers and the scuffling of shoes, but they sounded so far away. He tried to gasp for breath, but his chest was locked. His lungs should have been burning for air, but he felt nothing.  
Nothing but the bitter cold and the weakness that weighed heavy on his body.  
An attempt to call for help for the hundredth time came out only as a shallow sigh.

Slowly, Erik began to regain control of his body. His senses were dulled, but he was thankful his sight and hearing had at least begun to return to him. He was in his organ room...in the very same spot where the demon had dragged him and-  
He would rather not remember what that creature had done to him. It was a miracle that he was still alive, perhaps someone had heard his cries and had come to rescue him? He heard the voices grow louder and more clear as his senses sharpened. Erik could not stay here, he had to escape! Perhaps whomever was here in the mausoleum would help him back into town. They could warn the people of the demon! The king could send his men to dispatch the monster! If he could only stand up...  
For the life of him, Erik just couldn't find the strength or coordination to stand. His body felt so light, yet so heavy while his limbs felt so foreign.  
Erik forced himself to roll onto his stomach to awkwardly crawl towards the voice. Even this simple crawl was taxing on his body, but his very survival depended on it.

Once he reached the doorway, he gripped the wall and began to hoist himself up onto his feet. Only when he stood halfway with his knees and back bent did he realize something was very wrong.  
He was taller than the entryway.  
This was impossible, he thought. People don't suddenly grow twice their height and stone rooms definitely don't shrink.  
He must be hallucinating, it has to be the blood loss, or a head wound. There was no other explanation for this madness!

Erik had to crouch so low his knees touched the floor just to get into the next room.  
The voices hushed when he finally managed to work his wiry body through toe door and stand up, his head nearly touching the high ceiling.

"Well that was quite amusing. It's adorable to watch new spectres learn about their incorporeal forms." the voice of the once Court Wizard made Erik's blood freeze.  
The sight of the Demon who attacked him and the banished sorcerer made his knees weak and he shrunk back against the wall.  
"Oh, what's the matter? You look like you've just seen a ghost..." Zarok cackled while the demon broke out in a horrid laugh. "Ah, but I suppose you don't have a looking glass. You have yet to gaze at your new, improved form." Zarok mused as he suppressed another laughing fit.

Without a word, the demon stepped forward and caught the fleeing Erik by the roots of his hair and forced his face close to its body. "Oooopeeennnnn yooouurrrrr eeyyyyeeesss, cooowwwaaarrrd!" its voice came like nails against glass.  
Erik forced his eyes open and when he saw the horrible, ghoulish face staring back at him he couldn't stop himself from releasing a shriek that shook the stones in the walls. He could not hear Zarok or the demon laughing at him.

He was unrecognizable. This was not him! It had to be an illusion! The demon was manipulating his reflection! Erik's body became a flurry of limbs as he twisted his way from the glass claws. Zarok and the Stained Glass Demon watched in amusement as Erik tried to flee the Mausoleum. He ran quickly and his strides were long, but he tottled on his elongated legs before he was pulled back like a dog on a leash.

Erik grabbed at the pews as he felt invisible hands grab him and pull him back to his tormentors. When he discovered his extra pair of arms that had sprouted from the middle of his body, his screams began anew. Erik covers his eyes in despair as his hideous body flashed in his mind. He was as tall as a house, rail thin, his hair had turned a sickly shade of blonde, his face looked like Death himself, and now he had multiple limbs like a bloody insect!  
"I told you he would try to run, but as you can see he cannot escape. He is yours to do with whatever you wish." Zarok said rather dully. "Though I cannot understand how you can stand such an instrument. Even the crying of this fool sounds more like music than that blasted organ!"

"What have you done to me?! What have I done to anger you, wizard?" Erik wailed and clutched the hems of Zarok's robe pleadingly.  
"Don't touch me, you worm! Cease your noise, you blithering idiot!" Zarok yelled and Erik's vision went white. He tried to scream, but his mouth had fastened shut. His hands claw at the newly formed stitches while his sight slowly returned to him.  
He froze when he felt the skin on his face twisting and pulling away. 

Erik looked back at the demon when he could finally see once again, then collapsed when he saw his even uglier reflection glaring back at him. His top set of hands covered his monstrous face and his bottom set hugged his thin body.  
"No! That's not me! That's not me!! You are lying! This is...all a trick! A bad dream..."  
"Aww...just a bad dream? A nightmare?" Zarok sneered "You're going to wake up any moment and everything is going to be fine. Well, Mr. 'Phantom'...you're not completely wrong. You are sleeping the big sleep. Your final rest. If you're too stupid to figure that out...you're dead! You've been dead for weeks! Now you shall live up to your nickname! You really are a phantom! Can't you feel the icy fingers of death surrounding you? Clawing at your very being? You are forever bound to this mortal realm-"  
"NO! I'm not dead! I'M NOT DEAD! YOU ARE LYING!!" Erik screamed and sprinted down the hall to the basement. Debris flew around the room with the intensity of his emotion and what little light that was in the room suddenly went dark. Zarok couldn't help but laugh. Reactions such as these were always such a spectacle. 

 

Erik did not stop running until he had reached the very depths of the Mausoleum. This dark corner held the skeletal remains of the ancestors of Gallowmere.  
Once he stopped moving, Eric began to cry once more. This can't be happening.  
This can't be happening.

This can't be happening...

For the first time in a long time, Erik clasped his hands together and began to pray. He did not care who listened, he begged to the void for help.

Nobody heard him.

Erik was truly alone. 

After what felt like an eternity of mumbling to the void, Erik finally stopped. Perhaps he couldn't rely on divine intervention to be rescued. If they wouldn't help him, who would? Surely if anybody saw his wretched face they would run in terror. He knows he would. Erik had no idea how anybody could help him, but there had to be a way to undo this curse. Even if he were a monster forever, as long as he was far away from this wretched place and away from that demon and Zarok...  
There had to be something in this dungeon that he could use to spare the eyes of potential help.  
Occasionally, the Mausoleum would be used as a theater house, so perhaps he could find a mask or a veil. Erik thought of hollowing out one of the skulls, but that would be counterproductive. Skulls are scary. Skulls are gross. The thought of accidentally wearing his own skull also terrified him. Erik had no idea where his body was. 

Erik wandered around in the belly of the Mausoleum until he finally found a storage closet. There were many of them, after all. Erik tried to open the door, but his hand phased though the doorknob. After several failed attempts he sighed and was ready to give up when an idea bloomed in his head.  
Erik watched as his hand passed through the wooden door, then he leaned in. He was too tall to fit in the room, so half of his body remained outside. He searched the bags and crates for something to shield himself. 

When he collected enough masks, Erik leaned back out with them, the masks phasing through the wall along with him. He laid them out and began to try them on one by one. Masks that might have fit him while he was alive were now too small. They were all too small! Erik howled in frustration and clutched his face and pulled at his hair. The masks flew away from him and landed in different corners of the basement.  
All but one. One he had not yet tried on. He did not want to wear it.  
It was the mask from a play about a murderous madman, something he did not want to be associated with. Erik never wanted to hurt anybody and he certainly did not want to go mad...but if he even glances at his disfigured face even one more time, he fears he might succumb to that madness....

Erik slowly brought the porcelain mask to his face and pressed it into place. 

It fit.

Erik should feel happy to finally cover himself and restore a fraction of his dignity, but he felt even worse than he did before. Of all the masks he could find, why did one with such a reputation be the one to fit him? Tears once again pricked at his eyes and slowly began to flow down the smooth mask.  
Erik refused to become the monster. He refused to be the demon's pawn. He will fight the Demon if he has to...but he just felt so helpless. What was he thinking? He can't fight a demon! He's just an old man, well, he used to be. Now he's just a ghost. A harmless spirit who was just enslaved to a demon made of glass...  
What little confidence Erik had evaporated and his mask rattled with his wailing. Despite being muffled, his sobs still resonated through the halls, chilling the bones of any mortal who stepped foot in the stone walls.

Even years after his death, you could still hear his whimpers when you neared the Mausoleum. If you went inside, you may catch a glimpse of him wandering. If you asked the people about his identity, they could not tell you. The Phantom did not have a name.


End file.
